


In The End

by StringTheori



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break Up, Canon Compliant, F/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 14:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13343346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StringTheori/pseuds/StringTheori
Summary: "Come with me, vhenan," he says. She belongs to another now, a creature of force and power as old as the first world. There are plans with her too, the old one, as he does not trust his heart in her clawed, hot hand. He holds out his own hand to his heart, palm up and soft, pale, long fingers with blunt nails, dry skin cool to the touch.**Also known as the waterfall breakup scene. I’m trash.





	In The End

**Author's Note:**

> So while working on the stupid long chapter for my Hamilton fic, I needed to write this angst pile because apparently I can’t play a video game and not do that thing.
> 
>  Plz note I am posting this from my phone. Edits will be later.
> 
> (TAMS fans: I am still working on it, promise, sometimes I need to angst vomit and y’all don’t need more of that)
> 
>  
> 
> Please note there are SUPER ENDGAME SPOILERS and this is not a linear fic. Like. At all.  

He means to tell her. Really. It's all planned out ahead of time - he's good with plans - and he knows what he'll say, how he'll say it, what reply he will use in return for the rejection he'll face once she knows the truth. Once, he writes it all out, silent and detailed. He wakes up, no actual page written, and doesn't try to do it again.

 

"Come with me, vhenan," he says. She belongs to another now, a creature of force and power as old as the first world. There are plans with her too, the old one, as he does not trust his heart in her clawed, hot hand. He holds out his own hand to his heart, palm up and soft, pale, long fingers with blunt nails, dry skin cool to the touch.

 

She takes it, of course. _Of course_ , how presumptuous of him to think _'of course'_. She is a woman of fierce pride and merit, a bright flame in a world full of muted shields and silent hearts. His heart is real, and she slots her fingers between his.

 

**

 

Once, she saw him as he was before he destroyed his own people. Halamshiral, so like the shadow of his past, the intrigue and gossip, knives in the form of words and cruelties portrayed as kindnesses. He had too much wine that night. Not even an immortal with his tolerance stood up to glass after glass after glass of sweet, strong wine and he... he slipped. She saw how he was once, still can be apparently, a sharp steel spine with razorblade edges, a confidence to his tone instead of mild lilting supposing’s.

 

His heart questioned him, said she was surprised that he enjoyed it so much. There had never been disapproval, only curiosity, relief that he wasn't miserable the way their dear commander seemed to be. And she danced with him, pleased, even as he'd said, _dance with me, vhenan,_ and bowed, no smile on his lips but an intensity to his gaze he made no effort to smother. It'd not been an order, not quite a question, it'd been a _want_. For her, for the dance, for her to see him as he was when no one needed him to be the creature he tried to be. He never wants to return to that hot-headed youth with a passion for trouble and, in fact, finds pleasure in his current role. He enjoys being _hers_ , and the man she thinks he is, the man he wants to be.

 

Still, he found - _finds_ comfort in knowing she likes that other part of him too. It makes telling her the truth even more difficult. His heart likes him in all the ways she's seen him, accepted his careful refusal to an attempted seduction with a kiss to his cheek and an assurance that she cares for /him/ and sex doesn't need to be a part of that, that she likes being with him. She cares not _despite_ the lack of physical intimacy, nor because of. She simply cares regardless of where he is on the spectrum.

 

He, on the other hand, rather hated himself for turning her offer of taking him to bed. He knew, _knows_ , that he would hate himself thrice over had he gone to her chambers without full knowledge of who he is. He lies by omission, by twisting words and misleading tones, and there is little guilt in the act. To take her without revealing such a crucial, destructive part of himself... no. Omit facts and deny them as lies, but to withhold that and go to her bed refused to go by any other name but _rape_.

 

So, he says, _come with me, vhenan_ , and thinks _of course_ , and leads her away.

 

**

 

The plan is this:

 

“I have been trying to determine how to show you what you mean to me. I want to give you the truth – it is the best thing I have to offer you. I believe in you, your Inquisition, and you are the most real thing in this world, perhaps in all the world. Never have I met another soul such as yours, not here, nor the Fade.

 

“My name is Solas. It has always been Solas, the name I was born under, grew with, claimed as my own, as my pride. It is not the only name I have gone by in my life. Some were by choice and others given to me by those who would see me destroyed, or hated. My name has been mine since before this world began, before the Fade existed, as had my second name – Fen’Harel. It was used as an insult at first, one I claimed as a badge of pride. Of _solas_.

 

“Once the elven loved the Dread Wolf. They saw me as a god, the lord of rebellion. I attempted to dissuade them to little avail, and when I avenged Mythal and created the Fade, that name turned into loathing on all living lips of my people. I am your Fen’Harel of legend, and I am not, and I am your Solas.”

 

Those are the words he practiced, out loud, in front of mirrors or in bed, late at night, alone and wanting. Somewhere in the middle of them, she will stop him, yell or push away, tell him all the things he knows he deserves. It’ll end then and there, and perhaps she will tell the Inquisition, or demand he leave.

 

He is Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, God of Liars and Betrayal, Destroyer of the Elven people. Before, he was Solas, Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, Lord of Rebellions, Savior of the Elven people, and did not need to resort to lies. Oh, he could, and had, and felt no guilt, and now he did. Now he risked losing her entirely, rather than just leaving her. Letting her hurt.

 

If he hurts her, she cannot hurt him. If he allows her to see his soul and his truths, she will destroy what is left of his heart.

 

**

 

He says, “Your face, the vallaslin.”

 

Those are not what he means to say, he tells himself. He wants her to know him as Fen’Harel.

 

He’s lying.

 

**

 

She says, remove it. He casts his spell and she is free, no longer branded with the marks he fought to never grace another one of his people’s faces. She is beautiful, vulnerable and trusting him with it, and their lips touch.

 

**

 

She says, it is a part of me. There is no spell, only her worry of whether he can see past it. She is beautiful, perfect, and he tells her so. She is perfect just how she is, and it hurts that he ever made her doubt that. He leans in, and she presses her lips to his.

 

**

 

“I’m sorry, vhenan.”

 

Why? He takes her vallaslin and then no longer wants her.

 

Why? She keeps it and he is no longer hers.

 

He is sorry, and it is for the best.

 

She tells him his words mean nothing, that his heart is empty. No, she demands he tell her she was only a cheap thrill – he cannot, never, and she shoves him, says the things he was preparing for as Fen’Harel. Or maybe she begs him, asks him to not have it be true, to stay.

 

**

 

In the end, no matter the path they take to reach that end, she feels ugly and ashamed, rubbed raw and rejected.

 

At the end, through all paths, and not for the first time, Solas pretends not to notice.

 

**

 

He always meant to tell her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at stringthe0ri.tumblr.com


End file.
